Choices
by Stick Marionette
Summary: Greatness isn't all it's cracked up to be. How the choices of one Harry Potter destroyed the lives of many, narrated backwards by five different people. *updated* - fixed mistakes, and (hopefully) made chapter one easier to understand.
1. Power and those too weak to seek it

Choices

Chapter One: Power…and those too weak to seek it

2030 – Ministry of Magic, Minister's Office

The quill scratches on the parchment, making graceful letters.

*Hi.*

There is a reply.  The words are written in red ink, with a slightly messy script.

_Hello, Hermione.  How are you?_

*I'm fine, just very tired.  Did you know that both the Patil twins are on the Board now?  I'd trade them with Lavender any day.  At least she worked.*

_It's your fault for letting the process become so democratic in the first place.  Why do you think I left you in control of the Board?  Besides, you don't mean that.  Lavender was a meddling fool.  The Patil twins are just decorations._

*Well, thank you.  That makes me feel so much better.*  

_You're welcome.  Why are you trying so hard to distribute power, anyway?_

*I'm afraid of it.  I'm afraid that if I remain in control of too many things, I could become Him, or – *

The writing stops.  It takes the diary at least twenty seconds to reply.

_Or me?  Is that what you're afraid of, 'Mione?_

There is no reply from the middle-aged woman, whose hair is streaked with white.

_Don't be.  You're better than I ever was at this sort of thing.  Power corrupts, yes, but you're too analytical and intelligent to let it take its course._

Still no reply.

_You worry way too much.  Think about it this way.  Would you step down and leave the Ministry in the hands of those fools just to have your own peace of mind?_

Finally, the elegant fingers grip the quill, and start writing back.  The quill presses hard into the parchment.

*No.  Never.*

_There.  See?  That's how you're wiser than I am.  No matter how tired you are, you have to hold on.  We cannot let all our hard work go to waste.  We cannot let them wreak the world we worked so hard to build._

*You've just confirmed a theory of mine.*

_Care to share?_

*Those in power are afraid of giving it up because of their lack of trust in others.*

The words fade into the diary, and there is a very long gap this time before the reply comes.

_I suppose so.  We all have our own image of perfection, after all.  Everyone will try to mould the world into his or her own version of heaven._

*Finally!  I haven't had a concession from you in years.*

_Feel better?_

*Indefinitely.*

_So, what else is bothering you this lovely evening?_

*Stop that.*

_Stop what, 'Mione?_

*Sounding like Him.*

_Ah, yes.  You've met Tom Riddle before his execution, haven't you.  He was quite a pleasant conversationalist, when he wasn't trying to bite your head off._

*That sounds more like you.  The problem, now.  Percy is the problem.*

_What has our power-hungry brother done now?_

*He's planning a coup.  I'm sure of it.  By the way, I think you better lay off the brother thing.  He told reporters yesterday that you were no brother of his.

_Isn't that bad for his public image?  Percy never did have a good grasp of PR.  Maybe he should hire Ginny._

*Ginny had a huge fight with him.  They're not on speaking terms.  They haven't been for a while.  I think he wants to be Chief Adviser.*

_If I'm not mistaken, that post has been demolished following my death.  How is he going to convince the Board to reopen it?  Especially for someone like him, who has never been on the Board itself._

*He's stirring up the Pureblood-activists again.  That attack I told you about last week?  I know for a fact that he's behind it.*

There is a sense of shocked silence from the diary.  The gap is nearly thirty seconds long this time.

_He plotted to kill his own brother?  Even I was never that bad, and you had me labeled as the next Dark Lord.  What are you going to call him?  The Devil reincarnated?_

*I'm sure he didn't know Bill was going to be there.*

_Sure.  Just like I didn't know the Malfoys were holding a Death Eater meeting when I stopped by.  What's he been saying to the public?  What's his vision?_

*He sounds like he's repeating the Scripture of the Dark Lord.  Or at least Lucius Malfoy.*

_I highly doubt that he believes any of that.  Just after the power, then.  He wants to change the world.  You know we can't allow this to go on, don't you?_

The woman's hand is shaking.

_We can't allow what we've built to go to waste.  We can't allow all those who died to become mere martyrs of a lost cause.  You know that._

The quill finds itself embedded deeply in the far wall.

_It wouldn't be fair to Draco.  It wouldn't be fair to Ginny, or Molly, or Bill.  It wouldn't be fair to Ron. _

 __

Hermione shoves the documents on her desk around with shaking hands, looking for a new quill.

*What do you know about fairness?  How dare you mention Ron?* The new quill snaps in her fingers.

_I don't claim to know anything about fairness.  I do know that all those I've stepped on in my ascension to power deserves for this world to last.  I do know that if you can't stop blaming yourself about me and about Ron, you're going to go insane.  If it makes you feel better, feel free to blame me for everything.  After all, that's what dead people are for._

The woman mutters _Accio_ and a new quill appears in her hand.

*I'm sorry.  That was unfair of me.  None of all was your fault.  You were just trying to make things better.  You didn't know that Ron would end up like this.*

_I had hoped he was strong enough to take it.  He really is the bravest person I know, but his perception of the world in black and white has never changed.  The burden of guilt should never have been on him.  He didn't kill me._

*No, he didn't.  But having a hand in plotting it was really enough for him.  You knew that, Harry.*

_Yes, I suppose I did.  No matter what you told him, it was rather difficult to believe I plotted my own death, wasn't it?  Go to sleep, Hermione.  Tomorrow's a new day._

*All right.  I'll do right by all of you, Harry.  Don't you worry about a thing.  Goodnight.*  

Next chapter: The Dragon in hibernation.


	2. Never Poke A Sleeping Dragon In the Eye

Choices

Chapter Two: Never Poke A Sleeping Dragon In the Eye

2029 – Malfoy Manor, Attic

Well, Potter.  20th Anniversary of your death.  Are you weeping in joy?  I sure hope so, 'cause I imagine there's quite a shortage of water in Hell.

Hah, hah.  I don't even crack myself up anymore.  Must be getting senile.  Mind you, I'm not even old yet.  Just tired.  Very, very tired.

Damn you.  This is all your fault.  Can't even die correctly and leave me in peace, can you.  You have to go out with a bang, firecrackers and all, and leave us to have endless nightmares about it for the rest of our unnatural existence.

I can still smell the fear and doubt, clanging to them like a second skin.  The Mudblood, the Weasel, and I.  Welcome to the freak show.  They wanted to save the hero from himself.  I just wanted to kill you.  To win, just once.  We were sure that we couldn't succeed, not when it starts to turn hostile.  After all, even the Dark Lord couldn't stand up to you, in the end.  But you smiled, and invited us to polite conversation, debating the finer points of Democracy and Dictatorships with that smart-ass Granger.  I remember thinking that you were spending too much time with your nose in a book.

When the time came, you just stood there, holding your stupid wand, arms moving gracefully like a conductor, orchestrating a symphony of Chaos only you could hear.  Eyes closed, thank Merlin, so I don't have to see Slytherin green sharp knives filled with screaming.  You smiled, and let me have my victory.  My first, and last. 

But you were never going to just leave, were you?  Oh, no.  Nothing so simple for the Boy Who Lived.  Made sure I couldn't do anything, like becoming you, or worse, Voldemort.  That horrible noble streak they so fancy in Gryffindors made you use your damned power on me.  Or maybe it was just spite.  However, I highly doubt that you were ever that petty.

Well, I can't even summon a cup of tea now.  Are you happy?  I sure aren't.  I still hate you.  That's probably supposed to be comforting.  That these things never change.  Of course I hate you.  It's because of you that I am locked in my own manor, with only the house elves for company.  It's because of you that Father is dead and Mother has been exiled.  It's because of you that I'm a mere Squib.

I rather wanted to tell someone.  Sell the story to some tabloid rag, maybe, because the Prophet would never print it.  The Ministry controls it now.  But no.  That Mudblood – oh, _so_ sorry, the _Minister_ put spells on me, to make sure that I stuck to their story.  I have to.  Other wise I'll have thousands lining up for my blood.  I am, after all, the one who murdered the Boy Who Lived.  The killer of a benevolent ruler, who they still believe died in a sudden heart attack.  I wonder at the mass's gullibility. I wish I could forget that day myself.

Nothing lasts forever, Potter.  You never learned that.  Those Muggles you love so much will destroy the peace and stability that you murdered Pureblood-activists and would-be Death Eaters to maintain.  They have bred so much that they are invading every corner of the earth for living space.  We will be found out soon.  And then, they will annihilate us.

I wish you could open your surgical bright eyes and have a good look at what you've created now.  A beautiful, perfect world that no one will survive to enjoy.  I know why you choose me to kill you.  I also know why you took my powers away from me.  For once I agree with you.  If you and Voldemort couldn't cheat Destiny, then maybe it took someone with no ambition and will to change the world to break the chains.  I'll fight to the death.  All Malfoys do.  

Next Chapter: A redhead girl in a hospital      


	3. Some things never change

Choices

Chapter Three: Some things never change

2019 - St Mungo's Hospital, Special Ward

I wish he would open his eyes again.  I don't care if they're bright and cold, or filled with that horrifying fire, or cloyingly benign.  As long as I can see them again…

But I know that's never going to happen.  It's been ten years.  If he were going to wake up at all, he would have done so already.  Still, a woman can wish.  

Colin keeps telling me that I should let go of the past.  Oh, did you know we just had our fifteenth anniversary last week?  Funny, really, how these things happen.  We got together because of Harry, you know.  Both doing publicity for his endless campaigns.  

I remember everything I did, back then.  I still think they were the happiest days of my life.  I was content, I was loved, I was working for a worthy cause – and then it all fell down.

Hermione was right, we should have never let him personally execute Tom Riddle.  He was never the same after that.  But then, Hermione's always right.  She's the first-ever Muggle-born Minister of Magic, after all.   

By Merlin, I do have a tendency to believe what I fabricate, don't I.   Harry told me that, seventeen years ago, sounding indulgent and amused.  I remember thinking that in his case, there's not much to fabricate.  Most of it is true.  I remember you shaking your head at me when I told you so.  I remember.

Hermione tells me that she is tired.  She says that it is a difficult position, and that she understand him a lot better.  She also says it's too late for regrets now.

She was a good choice for Minister.  I doubt that anyone else could have kept it together for so many difficult years.  She says that it's lucky, really, that the power structure automatically reversed itself when he di - was gone – otherwise she would have been operating under a shadow.  But it's really a lot more likely that he reversed the power structure for her.  It's not like he hasn't done it before.

Stop torturing yourself.  What happened to Harry was not your fault.  We all agreed it was for the best, didn't we?  We were going to save the hero, and prevent him from sinking further into Darkness.  If it was anyone's fault, it was mine.  I should have had more faith in Harry.  I should have talked to him.  I should have stopped that bastard Malfoy from ever setting foot in his home.

I feel a little sorry for Draco, sometimes.  His fate is even worse than an Exile's.  He can see the magic all around him, but not use it.  He can't even show his face in public for fear of bringing shame to the Malfoy name.   I wonder if Harry intended for this to happen.  Probably not, as humiliation was never his style.

Sorry about the rambling.  Let me indulge my obsessive tendencies, if just for a while.  How are you, anyway?  The Mediwitches say that your brain has started to shut itself down, piece by piece.  They say that it might be kinder to let you go.  I can't allow myself to believe that, anymore than I can allow myself to believe that Harry's de – gone.  He looks so alive, it's almost like he's just sleeping. 

You're a Weasley, Ron.  Don't give up.  Hermione refuses to remarry, Fred and George have named one of their products after you, and even Percy comes to visit you every week.  We're all waiting for you to come home. 

I'll go now, and tell everyone that – that you're all fine.  Goodbye.

Next Chapter: The Riddle is complete.


	4. Riddle Me This

Choices

Chapter Four: Riddle Me This

2007 – Azkaban, high security cell

I always knew it would come down to this.  Just you and me, Harry.  You and me.

You have wonderful eyes.  Like well-honed surgical knives, to any mortal who dares to meet your gaze.  I rather suspect that they fear you more than they ever did me.  With good cause, I'd say.  That's power, Harry.

You make a good ruler, I hear.  Benevolent, persuasive, and charismatic, like velvet-wrapped steel.  Most still don't even suspect what you have become.  Addicted to power and the need to control.  It's a heady feeling, especially for someone who has restrained himself so much as you have.

But you had good intentions once, didn't you?  At the beginning, you only wanted to defeat me.  You naively thought that with me gone, everything would be fine.  I believe you discovered the brutal truth concerning that particular assumption the hard way.  And then, you had to put everything right.  Because that is what you do.  That is what you _are_.

You waltz into people's lives and make them players in your own game.  They do not even notice how they've fallen into your world until it's too late to get back out again, and by that point, who'd even want to?

Is everything all right now, Harry?  Is the world complete and perfect now that you are its Dictator?  Have you solved everyone's problems?  You can't live for everyone, you know.  

By Slytherin, I must sound like that doddering Muggle-lover.  I apologize for getting so sentimental.  Perhaps my age is finally catching up with me.

You should hate him.  If it weren't for that old fool's meddling, the burden would never have been heaped on you.  A boy defeated the Dark Lord as a child?  Let's use him as a shield next time trouble comes calling.  No matter how young he might be, or how much he hates being special. 

And now you can't stop, even if you want to.

Ah, but Dumbledore's gone, isn't he.  Pity, that.  Nobody can elude death for long. If you had your way, I would have been dead years ago.  But the Ministry wanted me alive.  Wanted to keep the Dementors in Azkaban, to keep being hostile to the giants, to keep things as they were.  They were addicted to the power they had.  Martial Law.  The Minister was a foolish man.  You should agree with me, as you killed him yourself.  On charges of treason, was it?  You have better perception than most, and a bitter sense of irony to match it, if I do say so myself.

Even as gifted as you are, you cannot heal the world.  You are not the Messiah those Muggles speak about, just a very gifted boy with a destiny you can't escape.  However, if there is nothing else left, do remember the last Gateway.

Goodbye. Now that I am nothing more than a Squib, the Killing curse should be sufficient.  I shall be waiting for you by the gate of Hell, Harry Potter.  After all, the key is really quite useless after the lock has been destroyed.

Next Chapter: how it all began.


	5. The Boy Who Lived

Choices

Chapter Five: The Boy Who Lived

2000 – Ministry building, Minister's Office

No one had even suspected.  Not even Harry himself, not until he'd gotten over his grief (useless thing, really) and put all the pieces together in his head. He had a good mind, after all.  The Sorting Hat had told him that, at age eleven, along with a great many other things. (You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head…)

Albus Dumbledore - the greatest wizard of their time, an extraordinary man with the most profound understanding of humanity possible – didn't even think twice about The Minister's sudden invitation to tea.

It was really quite smart.  Ingenious in its simplicity.  He, Harry Potter, one of the most paranoid people in the wizarding world, (and he had every right to be, dammit) didn't see a thing out of place.

No one even _thought_ – Dumbledore _had_ been fading for some time, after the huge power expenditure in the Last Battle.  No one wanted to think about it.  They all knew he was old, but no one, not even the Slytherins and ex-Slytherins, could imagine life without their strange Headmaster.

So when Cornelius Fudge refused to hold a public funeral reception for the man, Harry knew something was up.  However, he couldn't just let the life of a great man who was almost a father to him go just like that.  He held an unauthorized funeral himself, helped by his old friends from school and his Auror colleagues at the Ministry.  The attendance was astonishing.  Even the Malfoys showed up, in an uncharacteristic display of decency and respect.  

After that, his guard was up.  He kept an eye on the Ministry at all times.  Easy to do when you are an Unspeakable, and when many of your old friends from school work for the Ministry in crucial positions.  Harry warned them to be discreet.  The Weasleys were a powerful family, with four family members (including Ms. Granger-Weasley) in important posts, and very likely to attract enmity and suspicion.  But as much as he loved them, they really had no sense of subtlety. 

Arthur Weasley died a month later under suspicious circumstances.  Between comforting Ron and letting Ginny cry on his shoulder, he talked to Hermione and gathered his thoughts together.  

Two men in positions of influence.  Both died suddenly.  Both did not have health trouble.  Both were invited to tea with Cornelius Fudge two days before their death.  Harry drew his own conclusions.  But they had no evidence.  They could convince no one this way.  Besides, Fudge's spies were everywhere.     

He took the matter into his own hands, as he had been doing for most of his life.  Obtaining body tissue samples were easy.  He had them examined by the only one he could both trust to keep it quiet and who had the skills necessary.  The best Potions Master in Europe, as it turned out– Severus Snape.

Harry did not particularly like Snape, but having worked with him throughout the War, he knew that the man could be trusted.  So he waited for the results to come in, and prepared in secret for both answers.

After one month of test after test, one month of hoping against hope that he was just deluded and paranoid, like the rumors that the Ministry had been spreading about him had said, he had the results back.  Poison.

He was shocked, but not into inaction.  After all, his childhood and adolescence were littered with revelations and betrayal.  Nothing should have been able to stun him anymore.  But he was hurt by the thought, that what he and countless others had risked their lives to save was just as bad as that which he had destroyed.  Fudge had gotten a taste of true power during Martial Law time, and he had been seduced by it.  So he was now trying his damnest to keep that power, even if it meant leaving Voldemort alive in Azkaban, even if it meant stirring up hostile relations with other races and conflicts within the Wizarding population.  Harrry could only see one path of action – stop him before he sets himself up as Dictator.

And that's what he set out to do.  Gathered support, planned, and waited.  When Fudge invited him to tea, and politely told him to stay out of the Ministry's business and that 'if I hear of any more of your meddling, I'll have to fire you, Harry,' he smiled back and said: "No, you can't." 

Which is quite true, as the Ministry does not directly control the Department of Mysteries.   Besides, he has good friends in every single department, and evidence that Fudge is, in fact, a power-hungry murder.

He promptly told Fudge so, in a voice which has since been described to him as 'horribly cheerful'.

It wasn't really much of a fight.  As soon as the articles in the Daily Prophet came out, detailing the corruption of certain officials in the Ministry and those official's unwillingness to act during the War, people were clamoring for the Minister to resign and for a 'thorough investigation' to be conducted, spanning the whole Ministry itself.

Of course, what the people wanted, the people got.  Voldemort had once told Harry that War is the ultimate opportunity to have a coup – especially if you're on the winning side.  Harry thinks that it's just fear.  When people are afraid (for their positions, or for their lives), they flock to a larger power.  In that one storm-like week of confusion and fear, he suddenly had more supporters than ever before, and he made them promises.  He promised great things, to restore the Wizarding world to a state of glory that has not been seen since before Grindelwald's reign, to make peace with the other races, to finally exile the Dementors, and to retrial the Death Eaters without discrimination.  He believed in every word he said.

Our system of government has long been in decay, he told a bright-eyed reporter.  Fudge's government could not act effectively when Voldemort rose again, and allowed many innocent people to die.  They could not run without blind discrimination, so they locked up innocents and let the real culprits run free.  Democracy is the ultimate system of government, but it is susceptible to the mass's opinion.  And the masses may not always be right, as they can be deceived using mediums such as the press.

Therefore, he said, we need a board that will watch over the Ministry itself, one that can act independently and advise the Minister before mistakes are made.  They have to be people who can see the whole picture, not just the fraction that the public is fed.  They can ensure quick actions in the case of any emergencies, and watch for corruption in the government itself.

Two days later, that speech was printed in the Daily Prophet.  The day after that, the Ministry had almost unanimously voted to form the Adviser's Board, with Harry at its head.  He had smiled at Ginny when she appeared to tell him the good news, her cheeks flushed with surprise and happiness.  Both he and Hermione had known that would happen.  After all, most of those who would have voted no were currently under investigation.

They call him the Adviser.  Not Harry, not Chief Adviser Potter.  Just 'the Adviser', spoken in hushed tones filled with reverence.  Ginny had done a good job with the publicity.  Sometimes Harry suspected that she believed what she fabricated.    

Now, as he signs the document for the new Minister of Magic (a nobody, really, just weak enough to control until everyone gets over the Mudblood nonsense, they all know he's saving that post for Hermione) and the final verdict for Fudge's trial (who knew that treason was worth a lifetime of Exile?), he wonders.  About Voldemort, Grindelwald, and all those who came before.  Did they feel this shrill as well?  The shrill of building, of crafting something new and good, with his own hands, in his own image. 

They must have, he decided, as he looked down at the outline of his announcement speech. (He never writes them beforehand, it's not sincere) Yes.  He will change everything and nothing will ever be the same again.  He is the Boy Who Lived, after all.

_'There will be no more death or mourning or dying or pain, the old order of things has passed away.'_

The End


End file.
